


Two Roads Diverge

by nomeancity



Category: Requite Universe - Ankaret Wells
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomeancity/pseuds/nomeancity
Summary: Ligeia Boccamera is worried about her little sister. Will the Retort recognise Tzenni?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Two Roads Diverge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senji (Larilille)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larilille/gifts).



Ligeia couldn’t sit still. It wasn’t like her at all.

She could usually settle down and become absorbed in a book almost anywhere, which, she thought grimly, was rather a necessity when one had a sister named Catha. Today, however, it was all she could do not to get up and pace the room. Today was an important day, after all. Today her little sister Tzenni would be tested for the first time to see if she was a Maker.

Right now, in fact. Tzenni was in the Tower right now, facing the Retort to see if it would accept her. Ligeia shivered. She could remember facing the Retort as a nervous thirteen year old - nervous, but secretly convinced that it would accept her immediately. Was she not Lucastine Boccamera’s eldest daughter, descended from Founder Katharine Boccamera? The Retort would accept her as a true Maker, and  _ then _ her mother would Seal her to Spire and Descent.

She could remember the crushing disappointment when the Retort had not opened to her, too.

It was only last year, on her third and final attempt, that the Retort had accepted her and she had finally been named a Maker. She remembered her terror that the Retort wouldn’t accept her at all - that she would never test Maker and thus be a disgrace to her family. Her exultation when she felt her consciousness sink into the Retort had quickly been replaced by a new fear that she would lose herself in it. It felt as though her mind was unravelling, being pulled in every direction by the river of information flowing around her. She started to panic in earnest - and then felt Father Khoury gather her up, like a strong arm round her waist in a fast current.  _ You’ll have to learn better control than that, girl, if you’re to work in the Retort. Up and out for now, though. _

She had opened her eyes with a gasp, back in the safety of the Tower, and yanked her hands from the screen as though they burned. She had felt as though she should be drenched in sweat, but nothing had changed. Father Khoury had sat back from his screen and raised an ironic eyebrow at her rapid panting. “My congratulations, Ligeia. You’re a Maker.”

She started to smile, tremulously at first, then with more confidence. “I’m a Maker. I’m a Maker! I have to tell Mother…” The rest of the day had passed in celebration, but she had not forgotten that moment of terror in the Retort, and had almost dreaded her next entry to it. It had been many months before she’d been able to reliably gather her consciousness in the alternet, clothe her imagined body and perform simple tasks. She had always wondered if her lack of facility with the Retort was the reason her mother did not Seal her to either Spire or Descent, then or later. Just like she had always remembered that first moment of sheer terror.

Now Tzenni must be going through the same experience. Tzenni, who was scared of so many things already. She felt a rush of protective love for her little sister. Tzenni was most at home with equations, or building and rebuilding the nanes, or peering down a microscope at her endless slides of plants. (Ligeia remembered, with a shudder, when Tzenni had briefly extended her biological activities to dissection of animal life.) Yet whatever her facility with science and engineering, Tzenni was still afraid of heights, raised voices, arguments (except the calm, hours-long discussions of scientific principles with which Father Khoury indulged her), strangers and, quite often, their mother, Boccamera Prime herself. She had always needed Ligeia as the interface between her and the real world - and Ligeia had been glad to be so! In her most hopeful dreams, she had always imagined herself as Boccamera Prime, dealing with the politics and personnel of running the Spire, while Tzenni managed the research side, undisturbed by personalities.

How could her little sister cope with the terror that was the Retort? Ligeia quailed, remembering Tzenni’s worried face that morning. “You looked so tired afterwards, Ligeia. Is there anything you did differently from the previous two times last year?”

Ligeia had made herself smile and hug Tzenni (so much more huggable than Catha, despite being three years older!). “You just have to see if the Retort recognises you, Tzennet. I promise that there’s nothing you have to do in particular. You musn’t worry if it doesn’t either - it will just be that you’re too young, yet.”

Tzenni had nodded solemnly. “It probably won’t accept me. After all, it didn’t accept you until you were fifteen.”

Ligeia smiled in earnest, then. “Exactly. And, remember, whatever happens, Father Khoury will be with you.”

That had made Tzenni smile back, if nervously. “Yes, he’s said he won’t let anything happen to me. I wish you could be there too, though, Ligeia…”

Ligeia wished she could be there too - except that she wasn’t sure she could protect her little sister from the Retort, which made it all worse. She blinked hard, to clear the image of a terrified Tzenni from her eyes, and tried to reapply herself to the book in her lap. It had been a perfectly interesting set of essays on religious philosophy yesterday, but now it seemed completely impenetrable. She tried flicking forwards to the next essay, then shut the book with a decisive snap. She was out of her seat and halfway to the bookshelves to look for something different (books were a constant comfort, after all), when she hesitated, wondering if even books could distract her. Perhaps a walk would be better… Or some meditation in the oratory...

She half turned towards the door, then jumped as Father Tristyn’s slightly querulous tone cut into her reverie. “Ligeia, girl, either sit down or stop fidgeting. You’ve been like a nane that’s stuck in a loop all morning. I expect that of Catha, not you.”

Ligeia took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Father Tristyn. I’m just so worried about Tzenni.”

Father Tristyn sighed and traded a long look with her third father, Numair Broc de Boccamera, who was sprawled with his customary elegance on the opposite settee. Father Numair raised a thoughtful eyebrow at his spouse, then smiled with sunny reassurance at Ligeia. “Ligeia, love, we’re all thinking of Tzenni, but you know that your Father Khoury is with her, and there’s no-one better to have with you on the grid.”

Ligeia tried to smile back. “Except you, Father.” Numair threw back his head and laughed. It was one of the unspoken, but universally acknowledged, truths of the family that Ligeia was Father Numair’s favourite daughter.

Catha looked up from the noisy war her toy drones were waging in the corner of the room, in belated offence at Father Tristyn’s commentary on her fidgeting. “Ligeia’s just giving herself airs, Father Numair. Father Khoury says the Retort is like the nanes and Tzenni’s really good at nanes. Better than Ligeia. Or me!” The last was hastily added as she saw Father Tristyn’s mouth open to comment further on her insolence.

Ligeia glared at her youngest sister and started to line up the most cutting response she could imagine - something about how Catha was good at very little but making trouble - when she heard the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside. She whirled round and stared towards the door in confusion, as did Father Tristyn, Father Numair and, almost despite herself, Catha. The thunder of feet (often accompanied by either shouting or sobbing) would usually herald the arrival of Catha, but Catha was here already. Surely it couldn’t be…?

The door burst open and Tzenni skipped into the room. Ligeia caught her breath in amazement. Tzenni didn’t run, or skip - Tzenni walked slowly when absorbed in thought or quickly when late for dinner (because she’s been too absorbed in her latest project to hear the dinner gong). Tzenni certainly didn’t beam as widely as that…

“Ligeia! Father Numair! Father Tristyn! The Retort recognised me!” This was still her sister Tzenni, Ligeia reminded herself, even as a chill spread through her, so it was not quite a shout of triumph (Catha would have shouted), but it was still much louder than anything she’d heard Tzenni say in the past five years. “It was amazing! It felt like, like - like everyone tells me flying should feel! I could see the alternet, with all the Boccamera trees, and I could read some of the templates - it was like building nanes, but  _ better _ ! And Father Khoury says he’ll show me the drone templates next long-day…” Tzenni ran out of words and expressed her feelings in a most un-Tzenni-like twirl towards the door. Ligeia remembered with a pang that the other thing her little sister was good at was dancing.

Father Khoury, who had been leaning against the doorframe during Tzenni’s outpouring of delight, strolled into the room. “If you work hard, Tzennet, I did indeed say I would show you the drone templates.” He smiled broadly at his spouses over Tzenni’s head, but especially warmly at Numair. “She’s a natural - dropped into the alternet as though she’d been visiting it all her days. Reminded me a bit of you, when you were younger, Broc…” He turned a mock stern look on Tzenni, who had executed a quick dance step with delight at praise from her usually restrained father. “Now, don’t you get the idea that you haven’t got anything more to learn, Tzenni - there’s plenty to do before I let you anywhere near the deep levels.”

“Oh, of course, Father Khoury - but now Ligeia and I can learn together…” Tzenni’s voice faltered and Ligeia helplessly watched the animation drained from her sister’s face as Tzenni turned to her. “Ligeia? What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”

Ligeia tried desperately to make herself smile, to say the words of congratulation she knew were appropriate. After all, wasn’t this what she was good at? Hadn’t she protected her sister so many times before? The difference, she supposed, in the cool part of her brain that always calculated the odds, was that she had never had to protect Tzenni from her own feelings before. Her little sister had never been better than her at something that  _ mattered _ before. Amongst the sickening roil of pain, anger and jealousy, the one thing she certainly didn’t feel was happy. Which only added a cringing shame.

Ligeia never got a chance to find the right words (though she convinced herself afterwards that she would have), because the silence following Tzenni’s question was broken by Catha’s clarion tones. “Ligeia’s just jealous because she didn’t test out Maker the first time.”

Ligeia opened her mouth to deny it, then found that she couldn’t. Not just because it was true (however she wished it otherwise), but also because she had never been able to lie effectively to her sisters.  _ Tzenni _ was the only one of the three of them who could lie with a straight face to anyone - even their mother. She never forgot the look of hurt and dismay she saw in Tzenni’s face, as their eyes met in silent understanding.

It was much easier to round on Catha than to try to explain herself to Tzenni. “You insufferable brat! What could you possibly know about it? I bet the Retort doesn’t accept you at all, even in five years!”

Catha looked torn between amazed shock and a devil’s delight that she had managed to get her usually composed eldest sister to raise her voice. Never one to step back from a fight, she abandoned the toy drones’ war in favour of a more tangible one with her sibling. “I will too be recognised by the Retort, and I bet I am before my third test! I’m going to fly with the Swarm, and I bet they love me more than you.” Catha looked past Ligeia to a very silent Tzenni and her still-childish face hardened. Ligeia noticed, with a pain below her heart, that Father Khoury had stepped closer to Tzenni to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Catha looked back at Ligeia with a wicked light of inspiration in her eyes, “I bet the Swarm loves Tzenni more than you, too.”

“Why, you…” Ligeia wished she had spent as much time as Catha had hanging around the scout barracks, because she could hardly think of bad enough words to use. She took an impetuous step towards Catha, who squared up with the light of battle in her eyes. Ligeia had been above physical squabbles for the last few years, but she almost felt that it would be a relief…

Ligeia was aware out of the corner of her eye that Father Numair had exchanged a mildly-horrified look with Father Khoury, who jerked his head meaningfully towards the incipient battle. Father Tristyn had shut his eyes in despair and looked as though he was contemplating retiring with a headache. Father Numair slid to his feet and hastily interposed himself between her and Catha. “Now, girls, is this any way to behave?”

Catha was undaunted. “This is exactly the way I want to behave! Ligeia should have been nicer to Tzenni!”

Ligeia felt as though she might explode with pent up emotions. “You should have kept your nose out of everyone else’s business, you little…”

At that moment, Ligeia heard the door open behind her, accompanied by a gust of colder air. “What is all this racket about? Ligeia, Catha, I can hear you on the next floor of the Spire. Husbands, can none of you control your daughters?” She turned to see their mother, Lucastine Boccamera, Boccamera Prime, standing in the doorway. Her expression was customarily stern, although the fact that she was absent-mindedly fondling the ears of the dog at her heels suggested that her mood was better than stormy.

Catha, perhaps interpreting their mother’s mood much as she had done, hastily spoke out, “Mother, Ligeia called me a brat!”

Ligeia gasped at the injustice. “Mother, Catha interrupted a private conversation!”

Catha yelped. “You can hardly call it private…!”

“Ligeia! Catha! You will both be quiet  _ now. _ ” The whip-crack of command in Father Khoury’s usually dry and quiet voice silenced both of them. He took a deep breath in the ringing silence that followed and gently took Tzenni by the shoulders, turning her to face her mother. “Boccamera Prime, may I present the Maker Tzenni Boccamera, who has been recognised by the Lionvarre Retort this day?”

The silence stretched a few moments longer, as Tzenni and Lucastine faced each other. For once, Tzenni did not drop her gaze. Ligeia wished passionately that she could see her expression. Lucastine’s face remained stern, then suddenly broke into a wintry smile. For a wonder, she made heart-and-brow to her usually-overlooked, quiet, middle daughter. “Good. I would not have expected it of you, Tzenni, but I am impressed.” She raised an eyebrow to Father Khoury, thoughtfully. “Perhaps Chief Technician, in time?”

Tzenni managed to reply clearly, if with an effort. “I don’t know, Mother - but I liked the Retort.” More quietly, almost under her breath, she added, “It was like coming home.” Ligeia wanted to cry at the injustice of it, for both of them.

Lucastine was impervious to atmosphere, at least when it wasn’t atmosphere she had created. “Excellent. Well, daughter, I think recognition by the Retort deserves recognition by your family, too. Come along and you can choose your favourites for dinner this evening - from among the templates yourself, since you can access them now. Khoury, you can supervise her. Tristyn, Catha, I think it might be best if you joined us. Numair, perhaps you could have a word with Ligeia.”

Ligeia started at her name, wondering if her mother had paid more attention to the substance of her and Catha’s quarrel than she had realised. Lucastine never glanced in her direction, though, merely gathering her two younger daughters and her Andaluz spouses with her eyes, before leading the way out of the room. Tzenni, with Father Khoury’s arm around her shoulders, directed a long, closed look at Ligeia as she left.

The door closed. Ligeia clenched her fists and fought against tears. She was far too old to cry. She was too miserable to even react when she felt Father Numair put his arms around her. “Ligeia-love, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” but her voice sounded too high, even to her. She gave up, and turned and buried her burning eyes in Father Numair’s shoulder. “Oh, Father, Catha was right. Why did the Retort recognise Tzenni the first time and not me?” When I wanted it so much, she wanted to say, and now it can never be the first time, and I’ve broken something important with my little sister…

“Shh.” Father Numair’s voice was gentle. “No-one can say whether someone will be recognised the first time, but, Ligeia, you’re a Maker now. You know that.”

“I know, but Tzenni said the Retort felt like  _ home _ . Isn’t that different?” The Retort never felt like home for me, she wanted to say.  _ Does that mean my little sister is a better Maker than me? Already, at thirteen? _

She felt Father Numair sigh, then put her gently away from him, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “Ligeia, Tzenni may well have some special talent for working in the Retort. She’s had an aptitude for science and mathematics since she was younger than Catha is now. You  _ know _ that. That doesn’t mean she’s suddenly worth more than you. You have your own special talents, my little one.”

She almost started to cry again at the childhood endearment, which he rarely used now. Instead, she dropped her eyes to her feet, uncharacteristically graceless. “I don’t know what talents I have any more.”

Father Numair looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you not? Well, perhaps I do. Ligeia.” She looked up suddenly at the firmer tone with which he spoke her name. “I hadn’t meant to tell you this now - I was going to wait another year or so, let you have some more time as a child - but I have a secret. Can you keep a secret for me, daughter?”

Ligeia felt the horrible anger, guilt and shame - not fade, precisely, but recede a little. She recognised the caressing tone in Father Numair’s voice and the charming half smile on his face. It was moments like this that reminded her that she was special, because she was Father Numair’s favourite and there was no-one else like him in the world. “Of course, Father! Anything.”

“Well…” Father Numair paused for a moment and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Have you heard of the Order of the Neither, Ligeia?”

Ligeia stilled, suppressing a spurt of excitement. “Of course, Father. They’re the only organisation more powerful than the Courtesanat.”

Father Numair grinned at that. “So we devoutly hope, at least. Well, Ligeia, my secret is that I am an agent of the Order of the Neither. Only you and I know that, remember - not your sisters, or your other fathers, or even your mother.” Ligeia caught her breath: Lucastine knew everything that went on in Lionvarre!

Father Numair’s grin widened at her reaction. “Exactly. Anyway, I’ve been thinking for a while that you would also make an excellent agent, Ligeia. The Order needs young people like you: ambitious people with deeply held beliefs and talents for politics and diplomacy - and a knack for keeping secrets.” He smiled into her eyes. “What do you think, would you like to join us?”

Ligeia did not hesitate. Tzenni could keep the Retort. The Order of the Neither could give her the world. “Yes, Father. I would.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, Senji! :) I wanted to write you a "proper" Requite fic, as well as the frothy, light-hearted crossover. I hope the Boccamera sibling angst isn't a bit much for the season.


End file.
